It can’t be true that I was born this fragile.
Jennie always seemed the hothouse bloom
perceived as soft (where I was seen as agile)
yet now I fear I dare not leave my room.
I cared for her, had time for little else,
my weakness something I could ill afford.
Untended left the cuts the scrapes the welts
yet now I have become so eas’ly floored.
Yes, I was different on the very morrow
but not one-size-fits-all funereal grief.
Do not mistake my feelings for plain sorrow.
There was, I will admit, a strange relief.
It’s just her illness was my sole foundation.
In truth we are no thing in isolation

c.m.anderson
http://allpoetry-classic.com/catimini